


What Courier?

by nothingbutgoodvibes



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe, Benny gets a taste of his own medicine, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Omertas - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Chairmen, The Strip, The Three Families, did i write this all in one sitting with minimal editing? yes, first fic, white glove society
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingbutgoodvibes/pseuds/nothingbutgoodvibes
Summary: What would happen if House and Benny worked together? Honestly, I have no idea. But I know it starts with Benny in a shallow grave in Goodsprings where he belongs. But if Benny isn't the one doing the backstabbing... who could have possibly caught on to the plan?(I promise I have some ideas in mind...)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	What Courier?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I am a long time reader, first time writer so bear with me. 
> 
> I wrote and (sorta) edited this in one sitting late at night so there are bound to be some grammar and spelling mistakes. (Ya girl's also dyslexic and has never written these characters before... so buckle up.)
> 
> This chapter is pretty much all exposition and set up.
> 
> Comments are of course appreciated :)

If you had told Benny yesterday that he was about to (fingers-crossed) live through the worst night of his life, he would’ve laughed in your face. Actually, he might have just turned heel and walked away. Finks ain’t worth the time or the breath.

And yet, here is he. In the middle of fucking nowhere, blindfolded, gagged, and tied up.

It was supposed to be an easy job. Take a few days away from the Tops, channel a bit of his Boot Rider past buried deep within (under the soft exterior that developed after seven years of easy city livin), and venture back into the Mojave to play mailman for the big boss man. Any four year old could do it.

And sure, keeping everything under wraps was easier said than done, with the other two families breathing down his neck. Even his own men were bound to get suspicious. Take one second away from the dames and the cards and realize that the Ben-man has been making fewer and fewer stops to the casino floor. Spending more and more time held up in his suite on the thirteenth.

But for once in his life, Benny thought he had it all figured out. A few years back Benny got his hands on one of House’s securitrons. Remodeled a good portion of his suite into a suitable workshop with easy exits and a terminal (ya know, the bare essentials), with the full intention to reprogram the no good box of bolts. Or rather get someone with the technical knowledge to reprogram it. With any luck, he could use it to get a good look inside House’s future plans for the Strip.

Life on the Strip had been nothing but good, but as tensions rose between Legion and the NCR (not to mention the growing tension inside the Strip itself), Benny started to doubt the old man’s leadership skills. A faceless army of robots paired with a keen business sense and the looming shadow of the mysterious 38, might’ve done the trick a few years ago. But the old man was stuck in the past. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, Vegas was as wild as it’s inhabitants. And no amount of high dollar polish or micromanagement was ever gonna change that. 

The man was trying to rule the world, without ever leaving the one that died over 200 years ago. It was time for new management. Someone with ambition and a cutthroat tribal constitution to back it up. And Benny knew just the guy for the job. Himself.

Or so he thought. It didn’t take long for the old man to catch on. Figures.

But instead of killing Benny on the spot and kickin the Chairmen to the curb (which is what Benny would have done in House's shoes... erh screen), he gave Benny a lecture. The whole “I’m not mad, just disappointed” shtick. Some nonsense about violating his trust and doubting him, even after all he had done for Benny and his people. It was actually pretty condescending come to think of it.

But at the end of their little chat (via the now reactivated and double hacked securitron), House offered him a deal. Showed him all the files and plans he had spent months trying to get his hands on (with some key information omitted - most notably the location of all these hopped up securitrons and the software to boost em all up to tip top fighting shape). Explained his plan of upgrading all of his securitrons to truly take back the Mojave. All that he needed was a platinum chip that he had lost and subsequently spent the greater part of the last two centuries tracking down. All Benny needed to do to get a slice of the action and take his rightful place as the second in command of the New New Vegas, was go on a nice little stroll to retrieve the damn thing.

Bring it back and he would have it all. Be the first person to enter the Lucky 38 since the bombs dropped. Forget ruling the Chairmen, he’d rule them all. Finally get to rub those stinkin’ Omertas' and creepy-ass White Gloves’ noses in it. No longer have to worry about playing nice, heck they wouldn’t even be playing the same game.  
Fail to retrieve it or try to backstab House in any way, and he would be sure to end up in the ground. So it really was a no brainer. Sure, it’s not what he set out for all those months back, but it’ll do. With a payout just as good and the odds actually stacked in his favor.

And so, like a good little henchman, he followed House’s plan (mostly) to the letter. Hang up the checkered coat, put on some clothes that scream wastelander (he may or may not have some old gecko skin armor hidden away to remind himself of his roots and what’s at stake), and use the old sewer systems to sneak his way out of Vegas. Easy. Once he’s back on the surface, he just has to high tail it to the Mojave Express office in Prim to pick up the package which had just been dropped off after its acquisition outside the Hub in California. All the heavy lifting has already been done. All Benny’s gotta do now is make the final exchange. Heck, House probably didn’t even need him. But the man’s paranoid as all get out. Already hired five actual couriers to make similar journeys touting worthless junk to make sure nobody else caught on. As if anyone could successfully sabotage this fool-proof plan.

Benny was feelin pretty smug, the precious chip and key to his future safely snug in his pocket next to his pride and joy Maria, as he made his unceremonious trudge back to the Stripe. Although, running on a high of pure adrenaline and unwarranted confidence, it felt more like flying back. He kept walking even as the sun left the horizon.

He was almost to Goodsprings (stupid Deathclaws making him go the long way round), when someone or something got the drop on him. One second he was movin along, humming Sinatra to himself, high as the fucking moon, when all of a sudden it felt like the earth came crashing down on him (that or the business end of a shovel), as his vision lurched to black.

When he finally regained consciousness, he found himself on his knees with a sour-tasting cloth in his mouth, wrists bound in front of him, ankles tied, and a blindfold obscuring the view of his surroundings and captors (he’s already decided it must have taken more than one guy to get the drop on him... probably more like three or four... armed to the teeth and hardened by desert living... yeah that’s the only logical explanation). Guessing by the sand under him and the whistling wind in his ears they must not have taken him very far.

His struggling and huffing must have alerted the big brutes, because all of a sudden his blindfold is ripped down to his chin. For a split second, all he can focus on is the beautiful twinkling lights of the Strip way out in the distance. But as he lowers his gaze back to earth he takes in the true gravity of the situation. Up on the hill of the Goodspring cemetery. A freshly dug grave, the dust not even yet settled. Two thugs standing besides a looming figure - probably Khans judging by the outfits and bad haircuts. And, holding a pistol to his forehead, none other than Nero himself. The don of the "great" Omertas.

Well, fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> ... So what'd ya think?
> 
> I don't have my Benny's voice down, but honestly, half the stuff he says doesn't make any sense... so maybe that's a good thing? 
> 
> Also: shout out to moon_crater for inspiring me to get behind the keyboard for a change. Her works are amazing and reading them gave me this wacky idea.


End file.
